


Awash

by alasondria



Category: Phantasy Star Online 2
Genre: F/M, Luthaly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasondria/pseuds/alasondria
Summary: He finds himself yearning for her in every waking moment. He wants her. He needs her.





	Awash

**Author's Note:**

> aw geeze

The sun filters in, cascades over the room, sets everything it touches aglow in its warmth. Its reach flits over Alasondria's taut stomach, her skin awash in all the majesty of Cuent's sunrise; stained orange and red and yellow. Luther drags his hands down her sides, revelling in the way she arches into him, allowing him ever more canvas space to claim. He leans forward to press his lips to hers, deep and languid and he loves the way she pushes up; feels her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

 

He hums into the kiss; a chuckle skirting through his frame when he feels a sigh ghost over his cheek after they part. Alasondria doesn't hesitate to surge up and kiss him again, her body flush against his. She soaks in the heat; it's intoxicating and heady and altogether too much and she loves it.

 

Luther's hands remain busy, idling over the warm, sunkissed skin under his fingertips as he deepens the kiss, nibbling around her lower lip gently to coax her mouth open. Alasondria parts them eagerly, an invitation for Luther to lull his tongue over hers, encircling it.

 

She lets out a breathy moan, her eyes fluttering closed as Luther slides his tongue over her bottom lip and bites down again; gentle but firm enough to tease.

 

He pulls away and moves to trail kisses along her jaw. "Will you sing a symphony for me?"

 

Pressing a kiss just below her ear, he murmurs his request. A soft gasp looses from his aide and then a quiet exhale, a "yes" breathed like a secret in the air.

 

Luther's hands fall below his aide's stomach to her waist, kneading the flesh around her hip bones and drawing airy sighs from her as he moves down her body. One hand massages her inner thigh, the skin beneath the fabric of her tights buzzing with heat. His other hand moves to dip passed the hem of her pants, his thumb pressing against her slick entrance and rubbing up and down in slow, calculating strokes.

 

Alasondria presses herself into him, her mounting desire evident in the way her chest is flush against his. She opens her mouth and pleads, a string of moans tumbling from her slightly swollen lips.

 

"I do love hearing you," Luther purrs. "You're so pretty; so beautiful."

 

The pressure on her clit increases and Alasondria arches off the bed, her toes curling.

 

"Luther," she pants, his name biting off into a throaty noise.

 

"Yes, just like that," he mumbles. "What do you want?"

 

"A-ah. I want you inside me. Please, Luther."

 

"Mm, is that all, dear?" And his inquiry suggests he knows full well there's more to it than simply taking her.

 

Alasondria gazes up at her prince through dark lashes, her eyes lidded, and a coy smirk draws itself on her lips. She reaches down to palm his erection through his trousers, tight as they were. Giving it a light squeeze, she replies in a silky voice.

 

"I want your cock. I want you to cum inside me. I want you to fill me up, to make love to me so thoroughly I forget how to speak. Won't you do that for me, Luther?"

 

Luther groans, feeling Alasondria's hand wrap around his throbbing erection, leaving him no quarter. His pants cling to his stiffening length and he finds little relief in the way they rub against it thanks to his aide's deft fingers.

 

"When did you get so crass," he mutters, trying his level best to restrain himself.

 

"When I learned it's better to be forward with you, darling," Alasondria smiles sweetly. "You tease me so much. It's unfair, you know."

 

"Ah, but your needy face is so cute. That's why I tease."

 

"Hmph," his aide gives him a mighty frown and couples it with a firm tug of his cock through his trousers.

 

"Uhg, Ala," Luther grunts. "Watch your fingers. You'll finish me off before I even start."

 

"Mn-mm," Alasondria lilts, a song in her voice. "I know when to stop. You're not allowed to finish unless it's in  _ me _ ."

 

"God," Luther rasps. "Your voice alone is enough. Come here, you silly girl."

 

Luther leans back on his haunches and motions towards his lap. Alasondria moves quickly, pulling her leggings down and kicking them off afterwards. Now in only her undergarments, she eagerly crawls across the bed and straddles his hips, her arms slinging around his neck as she does.

 

The prince wastes no time in groping around at his side table to procure a vial of oil. He pops the cork off with ease and dips his index and middle finger in. Alasondria gently takes the vial from his free hand and settles it back on his bedside stand. Luther flashes her a brief smirk before he hooks his other index finger around the corner of her panties and pushes them aside to insert his digits into her. Alasondria bows her head forward, leaning heavily against the prince's frame for support as she spreads her legs wider around his waist, giving him more room to thrust his fingers into her.

 

"You take two so easily now," he mutters.

 

"I've practiced for y-you, a-ah...!"

 

"Oh? You must put on a show for me next time, dear," Luther says and presses against his aide, nudging her cheek as he trails sloppy kisses just below where jawline meets neck. "I'd love to see you working yourself open for me."

 

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers.

 

"A-ah! Luther!"

 

Alasondria rocks forward on Luther's hand, trying to drive his digits deeper into herself. Luther puts his free hand on her hip, staying it in place with a firm grip.

 

"You don't want to overdo it just with my fingers, do you, dear?" He grins as he twists his wrist around and gives languid strokes instead. A whimper escapes his aide's throat.

 

"Luther," she drawls out, voice a desperate whine. "Put it in me, I want you  _ now. _ "

 

"Hm? Put what where? I'm afraid I don't follow," Luther feigns confusion, a baffled expression replacing his smug countenance.

 

Alasondria's brows knit and she gives a single huff. "Your  _ cock. _ In me.  _ Now. _ "

 

She was going to make him regret playing around with her once she got her way. Luther might have her in the palm of his hand--quite literally--but she had her tricks. After all, it came with the territory of courting the prince of Cuent. She learned rather swiftly what undid him.

 

Luther shakes his head but pulls his digits out all the same. "What ever am I to do with you?"

 

Alasondria reaches down and grabs hold of the prince's wrist, guiding his fingers into her mouth. She wraps her tongue around them and sucks hard, her cheeks going hollow. Luther peers at her with a hungry gaze, the tables turning rather prompty on the teaser and the teased.

 

Popping his fingers out of her mouth with a wet sound, Alasondria flashes Luther a smile, feigning perfect innocence, and releases his hand.

 

He knows full well it's an attempt to rile him up--as is all her dirty words and forthright actions--though he will admit they work their magic on him without fail. He can't say he minds it, either. She was becoming an expert in learning what made his heart skip and his pants tighter.

 

"Since my darling aide is so eager, I might as well oblige her, no?" Luther levels her with a grin, unzipping his pants as he does. Alasondria stares pointedly at his hands carefully drawing the zipper down. Letting out a low growl she darts a hand forward to yank it open all the way and dig passed his trouser's waistline to grab hold of his hard length and pull it out. The sudden cool air on his cock makes Luther groan out loud. His aide licks her lips, running delicate fingers along the underside of his erection.

 

"I want it," she whispers, eyes transfixed on his heavy length.

 

"Patience," Luther manages when his aide gives pause in her idle strokes. He retrieves the oil once more and pours a generous amount into his palm to slather over his length. Once sufficiently coated and his hand free of excess oil, Luther grips his aide's waist and positions her just above the head of his cock.

 

"Ready, dear?"

 

"Yes, put it in,  _ please _ ," Alasondria pleads, her body quaking at the proximity. Gingerly, Luther edges his cock into his aide, heat enveloping the tip as soon as he breaches her tight walls. Alasondria bites her lower lip, trying to steady herself as she feels Luther inch his way into her, his movements cautious and far too agonizingly  _ gentle _ for her. Though she is aware he cannot rush headlong into it, she craves the hard, fast pace she knows he can give.

 

Once fully sheathed inside her Luther remains still, nosing the crook of his aide's neck and tracing her collar bone with light nips. "How do you like it?"

 

" _ Perfect _ ," Alasondria breathes. "Move. Please, dear."

 

Luther does not hesitate to take his cock out to the head and thrust, his hips angled upwards as he drives himself forward into his aide. Alasondria gasps, groping around for Luther's hands on her hips; she braces hers on his and inhales sharply.

 

"Still good, darling?" Luther asks, his voice silk to her ears.

 

"S-so good! Again, harder!"

 

Luther's mouth quirks upwards into an impish grin as he beholds the way Alasondria comes entirely undone just at the initial thrust. Her face is flushed and her chest heaves on a gulp of air as she anticipates the next jerk of the prince's hips. Luther turns his palms over and twines their fingers together.

 

"Move with me," he says and Alasondria does not need to be told twice.

 

When he pulls his length out to the tip again Alasondria meets his second thrust with a roll of her hips, grinding herself down onto his cock when it slides into her. Luther lets out a quiet groan, his eyes closing for a moment as he relishes his aide's overwhelming heat and the way her undulations squeeze around his cock in an impossibly delicious way.

 

He leans over her to capture her lips as he thrusts upward in succession, pulling muffled noises from her as he does. Alasondria jerks away suddenly, her mouth hanging open on a loud, drawn-out moan when Luther's cock hits her sweet spot.

 

"Mm, there it is."

 

Luther wastes no time rapidly driving his length into her afterward. His aide bucks against him, her legs slipping further down around him. She curls into him, her hands unthreaded from his fingers and finding purchase on his shoulders instead. He strikes the same spot from before and the noise it earns him lights a fire deep in his gut.

 

"Luther! A-ah! It's so good! Don't stop!"

 

Her voice is riding high and her pleas cut off into unabashed moans. This was always what Luther craved the most when he beds his aide. Her face etched into one of pure ecstasy, the desire evident in her eyes when they lock gazes, her voice cracking on her words when he thrusts into her, and the way she calls out his name like a prayer, impassioned, over and over again.

 

It isn't a desire to make her crumble under his finger tips, to mark her as his, although a voice in his mind--an echo hiding in the darkest recesses--speaks to those whims every now and then. No, it is the desire to see her unshackled in this moment; wild and free, lavished in the adoration Luther so earnestly loves to shower her in. If he could draw these mornings out; draw them well into the afternoon, give into his selfish desire to completely and wholeheartedly relinquish his all to her, make her feel like this, cherished and loved, for an eternity--he would gladly do it. Her happiness, her freedom, and even her unbridled pleasure, they were things he would sacrifice anything for.

 

He almost shakes at the surging feeling in his chest, the overwhelming swell of emotions that become far too much.

 

"Look at me, Ala," he whispers and places a hand under her chin. She peers at him, blinking. He takes in her wide, electric eyes, the faint colour dusting her cheeks, the way her dark hair frames her soft features. His chest aches as he takes her in; she has utterly and thoroughly  _ doomed  _ him and he could not be more at peace with it.

 

Alasondria seems to catch on when she notices the way Luther studies her. She cups his face and closes the gap. This kiss is not hungry like the others; it's a long, lingering kiss that leaves Luther's mouth burning when his aide pulls back slowly. She gives him a subtle smile and wraps her arms around his neck once more, settling into him.

 

Three words dance on Luther's tongue. Unspoken from the beginning of their relationship even up to now. The weight they carry and the implications for the prince of this nation--though he was not bound by Cuent's politics or its laws--still instilled in him a crippling fear. He was not a man who readily poured so much of himself into something, into  _ someone _ , but Alasondria had enraptured him so wholly, her presence alone became a necessity for him. The spark that drives her, that keeps her shining against the bleakest moments, it now burned brightly for him too. Where tragedy meets him Alasondria is ever-always at his side, prepared to lift him up again. And so he finds himself yearning for her in every waking moment. He wants her. He  _ needs _ her. 

 

Perhaps, then, it was only right he uttered those words at last.

 

He encircles his arms around her slender waist and holds her, her skin golden from the sun's glow. A handful of minutes pass as they remain, still and silent. Luther drags a hand up her side, fingers tracing her ribs and then moving to skirt along her stomach just as before. His mouth forms a hard line and he grapples with himself at the last second.

 

He is unsure. Unsure, not of if he loves her, for so plainly is it that he has fallen  _ terribly _ hard for his aide. But rather, if such a seemingly simple confession will carry with it a revelation far too overwhelming for her. He wants only to make her feel as she should--to give her what she deserves--but if professing his love is something that will drive her away, then he would be resolved to never speak of it.

 

Alasondria scrutinizes her prince's flickering expression. A conflict rages in his head, that she can see. She places her fingertips below his chin and guides his gaze up to her's. She gives him a brief kiss around the corner of his mouth.

 

"Think of complicated things another time, dear," she says.

 

"It isn't that simple, you know," Luther laughs and the mood between them resumes its usual air. He jostles her in his lap ever so, snapping her back upright with a squeak.

 

"Luther!"

 

"I'm sorry, dear. It was too easy."

 

Alasondria fixes him with a hard glare, though it's quick to melt away when Luther moves again, giving an expertly angled thrust into her as he begins setting the pace once more, eager to give his aide her sorely needed release.

 

Proclamations of undying love can wait, he decides. But an Alasondria in need cannot.

 

The morning sun is at its peak, its rays beaming through the window, lighting the room up in a stellar display. A halo of gold circles Alasondria's hair and Luther drinks in the sight of her atop him, illuminated like a heaven-sent angel. His hands slip down to her hips, thumbs kneading circles in the dip around her waist. His aide looses an airy sigh, her shoulders going slack as she gives herself to Luther's ministrations entirely. His thrusts are deep and languid, ground into her to savour the way it feels having his cock engulfed by her overwhelming heat. She surges into his space and her hands fly forward to cup his cheeks when he drives his length in deeper than before, taking a leap towards that spot that had her singing his name earlier. His aide's legs squeeze around his lap and the increase in tightness on his cock wrenches a swear from his throat.

 

"Luther," Alasondria gasps. "I'm close."

 

"Good," he murmurs and braces his hands on her hips. He leans into her and noses her neck, planting kisses along her collar bone. "Show me, darling."

 

And he repeats the same thrust, this time drawing her up and back down with him, grinding her down into his length. Alasondria's hands fall from his face to his shoulders, her nails raking along his skin, leaving faint red stripes.

 

"Ah, yes! Right there! Luther! I'm going to-!" Her words tumble out, her voice tapering off into desperate moans as her prince gives everything for her; his thrusts never ceasing--his cock rapidly plowing into her now but still as deep and hard as ever. He's striking that spot ceaselessly and a fire burns in her stomach, the embers skirting lower as she feels her release mounting.

 

"With me," Luther says hastily. "Cum with me."

 

"A-ah, yes-!" Alasondria barely manages to grab hold of one of Luther's hands, hurriedly threading their fingers together, her grip like iron, before her orgasm hits like a wave, washing her senses out until nothing but pure bliss remained. She curls into Luther and calls out to him, her eyes seared shut as she shakes, ripple after ripple of pleasure surging through her.

 

Luther's head is tucked into the crook of her neck when he cums, his hand clasped firmly around his aide's in something like a desperate need for an anchor through the onslaught of ecstasy crashing into him. Over his heart thrumming wildly in his ears, he barely catches Alasondria whispering his name, fervent, like a mantra for herself to remain grounded. In this moment, he loses himself, his chest swells, the familiar surge of emotions swarms him again and he whispers back three words.

 

"I love you."

 

Time seems to altogether stop. He feels his blood run cold once he realizes what he had blurted. Alasondria is silent even as the aftershocks no doubt wrack her form. He blinks ahead, unmoving, for he fears in the moment he lets go she will be lost to him forever.

 

"Luther," she breathes, breaking the agonizing quiet.

 

"Alasondria, I-"

 

"You love me?" She asks and her voice is watery, her words hardly containing the flood of tears that threaten to fall.

 

"My dear, if it's too much too soon, I-"

 

And Alasondria falls upon him in an instant, arms flung around his neck as she knocks him forward, his back falling flat against the bed. Her face is pressed into his chest and she sobs out unintelligible things.

 

Luther confusedly stares down at her mop of hair. "Alasondria?"

 

Her head pokes up, her face impossibly red and tear-strewn, but her mouth is pulled into a beaming smile.

 

"...I suppose that was fine, then," Luther offers with a subtle smile of his own in return. He reaches out and cards his fingers through her hair. She drops her chin to his chest and giggles to herself.

 

"What's so funny?" Luther asks, amused.

 

"Nothing," Alasondria replies, smile broadening.

 

"Oh?"

 

"Mm."

 

A silence, graciously comfortable this time, settles over them. Until, of course, Luther breaks it.

 

"Shall we clean up, dear?"

 

Alasondria grumbles into his chest but rolls off him all the same. A sharp inhale looses from the prince at the sudden release of his length. Alasondria covers her mouth, stifling a laugh. He shoots her a glare. She crawls back up to him and places an apologetic kiss to his cheek. He takes the chance to loop an arm around her shoulders and pull her down again, earning him a brief protest.

 

"What happened to cleaning up?" His aide levels him with a narrow look.

 

"Five more minutes," he says, holding up the number with his free hand.

 

"Lazy."

 

"Only when an especially cute aide is in my arms."

 

Alasondria furrows her brows, a mighty pout crossing her features. He smiles down at her. She elbows his ribs.

 

"Ow!"

 

"It's what you get," she mutters.

 

Luther shakes his head.

 

Though she'd not said it in return, Alasondria had given her own reply to his confession. She had given it, Luther realized, many moons ago. Her devotion, her loyalty, her sacrifices in his name; she had made her feelings obvious since she returned to the capital with him. Even before, back in that quiet little village, surrounded only by the cold air of Cuent's winter and a promise spoken between them, she had confessed her love wordlessly.


End file.
